


Caustically So

by reimiyabi



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flight Attendants, Alternate Universe - Horse Racing, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Horses, I Love You, Wanderlust, alotta aus huh, angry napoleon, cutie jean, does anyone even read this, horse jockeys, horses are better than people, kidnapped eren, manipulative erwin, mikasa mikasa how i love thee, misanthropic levi, orphaned mikasa, sarcasm by the barrel, tagging is an unusual thing for me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1967352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reimiyabi/pseuds/reimiyabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mikasa Ackerman, a listless flight stewardess for Trost Air clashes with the rude, acerbic renowned horse jockey, Levi Rivaille, tension of the best, worst and unusual kind builds as the two brutally abrasive characters are forced together again, and again, and again...</p><p> Meanwhile, as violent sparks fly, Eren, Mikasa's long-gone kidnapped brother missing until now, is linked to a suspicious trail Mikasa must follow, and Levi, strangely, is also somehow entagled in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: honhonbaguetterivaille  
> Will be absolutely stoked to receive any comments about my work!
> 
> Don't you think Levi has the ideal form of a horse jockey?! Amazing...
> 
> I have fun writing this, you have fun reading this--that's the deal, okay?
> 
> (Will be very, very grateful to be informed of any grammatical rectifications needed! Also, I'm not specifically knowledgeable in the subject of jockeys, so feel free to point anything out, thanks :D ))

Levi Rivaille was a busy man. Small, lithe, with wiry, sinewy strength in his muscled, but rather limited-in-statue physique, he was at the height of his career, the star jockey every trainer and racehorse owner had at the top of their wanted list.

He loved horses, liked them much better than people, and so while he engrossed himself in the pure thrill of racing, and driving the great beasts as far their equally competitive spirit could gear their powerful vessels of flesh, he let his manager, and the only human he trusted, to deal with the manipulative, deceptive members of his species in his name.

Of course, Erwin was an excellent talker and a scheming, cunning mind beneath his innocent, charismatic facade of an unassuming novice manager with the purely coincidental looks of a supermodel. Erwin handled most of everything to do with human interaction for Levi, and Levi simply did what he did best and stayed the best at. That, however, did give Erwin the complete liberty to move Levi where ever there was a marvellous spot offered.

But Levi loathed travelling. He detested shifting from one place to another, and having to lug bags and all sorts of nonsense around with him. Erwin wouldn't even let him dip into his personal allowance for a first or even business class seat, away from the lowest quality of passengers--the uncivilized, noisy lot. That cheap bastard, always talking about watching their finances.

They always made aplenty, but Erwin would refuse when it came to "expensive, unnecessary privileges". Levi would have refused travelling altogether, if it hadn't been for Erwin's persuasive promises to take on the additional and quite childish responsibility of packing his necessities for him. Only then had Levi grudgingly consented to be situated temporarily in Hong Kong, assigned to an apparently fearfully wild but extremely potent racehorse named Luckyfoot.

Levi had seen a few clips of the horse taking runs and had already noted the mistakes Luckyfoot's idiotic trainers were making. The last few jockeys were imbecilic enough to quit on the horse so soon, too. The creature was magnificent, an animal rolling with muscles and with fire in its pace. Levi had fallen in love on sight.

And so here he was for the beast and for Erwin, readying himself to board the plane for Hong Kong. He had absolutely nothing on him, save for his passport and ticket tucked neatly in his cream-toned jacket pocket. Gladly, Erwin had already arranged for a chauffeur to the villa of the owner of Luckyfoot near the edges of the city. Levi could always count on Erwin's workaholic sensibilities.

His jacket now slipped under his arm, he handed his ticket to the lady behind the counter. His eyes, a harsh, stormy grey that occasionally sharpened into intense focus and dilated in the liberal excitement of racing, often deemed so bluntly hostile on immediate observation that hardly any stranger would ever risk their life speaking to him; those very dreadful eyes, met with the blandest, most listless black gaze he had ever encountered. It was like staring into two long-lashed voids. They blinked slowly, the lashes curling down and sweeping up.

"Good morning, sir," said the woman, courteous without feeling.

Somehow, her blatant nonchalance was what snagged the usually blunt, incredibly selective hooks of his attention. It was so repulsively politely rude, and yet so supremely steely was the air about her. Methodically, she swiped his ticket through the scanner and handed it back to him, already looking on to the next passenger.

"Have a nice flight, sir," she said, voids blank and paused, as if waiting for something that would never come.

"You too," answered Levi mechanically.

The voids suddenly darkened in amusement, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Levi realized his words and scowled magnificently.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

Rather curtly, Levi moved off, grasping at his vibrating phone. The caller ID was Erwin's. Scowl still locked firmly in his jaw, he swiped his thumb across the screen to answer, advancing through the aisle of plane seats.

"Oi, Erwin. I've just boarded the plane so don't call me later until you see me."

"Hello to you too, Levi," replied Erwin's pleasant voice agreeably. "Well, I'm just calling to check up on you. Is everything fine?"

"What, think I can't handle a plane flight alone?" sniped Levi. "I'm fine, Mother."

"Then all's well, dear," laughed Erwin. "Okay, I'll let you go now. See you in Hong Kong. And try to not murder the unfortunate person beside you should they attempt interaction. I know how you can go on about strangers who try to socialize."

"Such faith," said Levi, sneering at a hefty fellow blocking the horrendously narrow lane as he chatted with his mate. " _Excuse me_."

The offender turned with an effort, looked past the top of Levi's head and turned his pig-eyed gaze down with some surprise. Levi hated when people looked at him like that, always so plainly bemused at his short stature.

"Sorry," grunted the man, piggy eyes dodging Levi's scathing glare as he stumbled and crammed himself into a free seat at the side.

"Like that," sighed Erwin on the other side of the phone, with an undertone of amusement, "Don't do that."

"What am I supposed to do when they barricade the path like a damned beached whale? Pissants."

"Rant to me later, dearest," chuckled Erwin. "All right, I've got some paperwork to fill up. How much do you weigh again? They'd want to know if you might drag poor Luckyfoot down."

"Shut up." Levi hung up on the lilting sounds of Erwin's laughter and sank into his designated seat. He wrinkled his nose, staring at the two miscreants he'd have to sit beside, a loving couple practically entwined together, giggling stupidly and murmuring tenderly into each others' ears.

It was going to be a horrible flight.


	2. Chapter 2

Mikasa was a Trost Air stewardess, and she hated her job with the deepest loathing. She despised the regular snappy customers and those that would flare up at the slightest of mistakes. Those of that sort hadn't a smile to offer, ever, and Mikasa had learnt that a stoic, emotionless facade was perhaps the most neutral and unignitible of expression to use. She couldn't fake a smile like some people could, like how her best friend Annie could, somehow dredge up a pretty, affable smile from the hollow depths of her terse, listless personality. And Christa...was the happiest girl she knew, impossibly preppy and cheerful; an entity comprised of sunshine and ridiculously perpetual joy. She genuinely liked her job, and Mikasa could never understand it.

Mikasa wanted to travel--but not serving grumpy, unfamiliar faces. Such an specimen, experiencedly set in the despised category immediately, now faced her, scowling fiercely and looking as if this was the last place he wanted to be. And no wonder--the two passengers beside him were busy shoving their tongues down each other's throat with gross intensity.

From instinct, she knew Christa should have taken this one, but now she was serving another customer, all wit and cheer, and all of it amazingly sincere. This challenge was Mikasa's to take and win. Grudging as she was.

"Hello, sir. Will you be taking lunch?" Some passengers didn't want to eat airline food. Mikasa could strongly empathize with them.

A disbelieving stare met her cool regard. "Well, if the only thing's on the menu's the usual pig swill, you can skip it."

Mikasa had never heard a passenger quite so bluntly expressive of his dislike of airplane meals, but for the sake of keeping her stupid job there wasn't much she could do to heartily agree with him.

In obligatory defence of the rot her company served, she said, "I'm sorry to hear your opinion of Trost Air's food. Still, would you prefer the chicken with potatoes or fish with stir-fried vegetables? Or the vegetarian meal?"

The man gave a look that plainly said _Did you hear what I just said?._  Amusement killed by the sheer feeling of that look, Mikasa held back a retorting glare. He exhaled sharply and said, "Give me the fish."

"Any drinks, sir?" Mikasa pulled out the meal from the slots in the trolley. It was encased in lukewarm foil and beads of condensation were sliding unattractively along the creases.

She could feel dark eyes tracking her movements intently. "Black coffee. Don't put any of that additive crap in it."

It was a purely instinctive follow-up line. "Sugar, cream?" Mikasa still asked, sliding the meal onto his fold-out table.

His nose, sharp and surprisingly elegant, wrinkled in distaste. Whether at the unappealing food or her blunder, Mikasa couldn't tell, but she disliked him all the same.

"You're denser than you look," remarked the man curtly. "Pay attention, can't you."

"Apologies, sir." Mikasa briefly entertained a fantasy of her accidentally upsetting the coffee cup onto his pristinely white shirt. Were those riding pants?--whatever they were called. And that was definitely a jersey. She didn't really have enough time to contemplate the possible range of some testy man's occupations, because she would quickly come to realize that she was precognitive. Rather, her fantasy would come true, and as with stereotypical nature of most impulsive wishes, it would be realized with great astonishment and instant regret.

Sudden turbulence was immediately obvious--the plane shuddered, and everyone could feel the faint reverberations, but only those standing could feel that hapless sensation of the ground rolling under their very feet. With the plane's vague sway, Mikasa's wrist twisted to keep the cup, but it slipped from her and steaming black liquid sloshed freely over the man's impeccable white shirt and onto his lap.

A brambled stream of curses in French spilled from the man's mouth as he jolted upright, knees smashing into the tray. The lunch on it tumbled onto the woman beside him, and that, absolutely shockingly, had her separated from her lover as she ripped apart from him with a yowl.

 _Shite_.

Actually sorry, Mikasa said her due apologies with natural heartfelt concern, something she was rather unused to, to be honest. But quite unfairly, the first thing that really caught her attention wasn't even his perfect cream trousers slowly melding into a dirty brown, but his height. She could graze the top of his head with a glance. Christa was gasping, rummaging hurriedly inside the trolley for a towel to toss to her. Mikasa almost went to dab at the spreading, horrific stains herself, but caught herself with the rather belatedly full realization that this was a male.

Said afflicted male was looking completely stricken, his angular jaw working furiously with the flow of obscenities he was exacting on the unfortunate state of his pants. His thunderous stare found hers wide-eyed, filled with sincere guilt.

His lips pressed into a tight, grim line, the thin barrier against shimmering anger that beat about the surface. "Give me your number," he managed to say, hard and forced.

Mikasa blinked. "Sorry?"

"Not another useless apology," snapped the man, snatching the towel from her, "You'd better pay for the laundry for this outfit. It's my favourite jersey suit, you buffoon. Now I'll have to change--and--" Hollow and exasperated, he stared at her, almost helplessly, seeming to be at a complete loss of words. Then he launched into another splutter of curses, harshly and hoarsely, seemingly at the air. "God damnit." he breathed, as his finishing word.

Reluctantly, with the cheap pen she kept constantly in attire's breast pocket, Mikasa scribbled her number on a slip of notepaper and gave it to him. Except for the soothing endearments the man was giving his lover, splattered with damp fish, the witnessing passengers along the rows emitted soft, incoherent murmurs, observing the stoic, unruffled countenance and the contrast of the contorted, quite savage visage. The intense dark eyes set in the face of the latter seemed to light up with some form of recognition.

"You're that girl," he said, still gnashing his teeth. "That lady who checked my plane ticket."

Mikasa was quite perplexed. She didn't remember him; and of course, why would she, seeing waves and waves of new, fresh faces everyday? Since she'd taken her job, she had even made it a point to discard the crankier, snooty profiles from her recollection. It did start to wear at the soul after a bit. Still, that last dead expression, neither hostile nor friendly, now rendered into a distortion of frustration, did seem a little memorable.

"I'm sorry, sir," she repeated, uncertain how to reply honestly that she barely remembered him at all.

The man snarled wordlessly, actually snarled, now entirely absorbed in mopping his defamed trousers as best as he could. He hadn't heard her at all. Mikasa could only lay as many moist towelettes she could find on his table, and draw the trolley away to serve the next passengers.

_Seriously, damnit._

 

* * *

 

 

"Hello, dear passengers, this is your pilot speaking," said a detached voice, almost gleefully, from the speakers. "We're experiencing some unexpected turbulence, so please stay in your seats."

Dully, Mikasa got up, clutching at the heads of seats to firmly guide passengers back to their seats.

\-----

In the narrow box of privacy provided by the plane's toilet, Levi swore again, having just peeled the soaking, stained cloth from every inch of skin on his legs that it sought to cling wetly to.

An idea most repugnant to him struck his mind. But he was desperate now, wasn't he? Clenching his teeth, he gathered his wits and pulled open the door just enough to poke his head round and look down the aisle. The inquisitive looks of the seaters facing his toilet cabin burned.

"Oi," he hissed at a passing stewardess. She was blonde, with sharp, pointed features, and as petite as she was, even shorter than he was, she looked like she could beat a full-grown man to a pulp.

"Yessir?" she said, instantly plastering on a smile as false as captured moonbeams. It was the most grotesque, trying form of pretense Levi had ever seen.

He might have been slightly wary if he had had pants on at the moment, but the lack of such drove him to a level of hostility even he was unaccustomed to. "Get me that stewardess. Black hair slightly past the shoulders; black, dead eyes; shrewd-looking but wretchedly mechanical. I'm sure that's enough for you to go on."

"I know exactly who you mean," said the stewardess, flashing Levi a pearly white smile that made him want to shudder. "I'll be right back, sir."

\---

Mikasa was slouching in her pull-out seat, leaning her head into her fellow steward's stiff side when Annie peered through the curtains, a real shark-like grin on her face. "Hey, Jean. Looks like you'll have to spare Mikasa for a bit. Don't cry while she's gone. Mikasa Ackerman," Annie jutted her chin at her. "You're wanted by an angry Napoleon."

Ignoring Jean's flustered protests that he would never bawl in her absence, Mikasa's head lolled away and one eyelid opened tiredly. "He's short then?"

"Didn't say Yao Ming, did I?"

Stretching herself, Mikasa slowly pulled out of the seat.

"Scowling? Rude? Snippy and snide?"

"Yep," Annie led her down the aisle, snickering. "Impressive. You got him pinned down in a try. Funny, he was all the same about you."

"What?"

"Described you as a general zombie. Which you are."

"You're an encouraging friend, Annie."

"Tell me something new."

"So, what does the French conqueror want?"

"Don't know," Annie's tone dropped, "don't care. Here's His Supremacy's toilet. Have fun."

Mikasa rapped on the door. "Hello? Sir?"

The door was pried open immediately to a slit, revealing a countenance contorted in the severest of grimaces. His eyes scanned Annie with something akin to distaste. "Send your friend away first."

Skillfully hiding a snigger, Annie left the two, awkwardly interacting between the toilet door.

The man watched Annie leave with a narrowed-eyed glare before he turned his gaze on Mikasa, tight-lipped. "You. You soaked my jodhpurs. It's a damned disaster. It's bloody unbearable. Find me some dry pants."

"You couldn't ask Annie?" said Mikasa bluntly. Too late, she realized that this was exactly what made her few friends deem her socially unfit.

The man sneered. "That murderous blonde? Absolutely not. And you owe me. Get to it. Your captain just yelled turbulence. I want out of this damned crammed toilet and some dry pants now."

Granted, the coffee spill was quite her fault (also, the turbulence's), but Mikasa had never found another passenger quite so abrasive with his words--and so ludicrously aggravating. She gritted her teeth and tried very hard to hold the lid of her cool demeanor over her bubbling anger.

"Yes sir," she snarled, seething.

\--

To her credit, that bumbling stewardess did move quickly. So swiftly, Levi could almost forgive her in his immediate relief. Almost.

But when a pair of ugly khaki shorts was what was handed to him, he shoved them back through the slit of the door in powerful revulsion. "I'm not wearing that rot. Where'd you get it from, the land of humiliation?"

"That was borrowed from the only male steward who has an extra pair of pants on hand, sir," said the stewardess, her irritation clear. She plucked the rejected shorts from the floor.

Battered furiously by winds outside, the plane gave another nauseating swing. Levi stumbled in the minute space and dashed his hip into the sink counter.

More incredulous than pained, he stared at his bare waist, now stained with a swelling blush of blue-blackness. "Have a pair of pants yourself?" he spat, swallowing a hiss. "Just give it here."

\--

Mikasa wanted to deny most vehemently that she did indeed have a spare pair of jeans tucked away, but before she could, the taut voice behind the door said the fatal word like it pained him-- " _Please_."

Mikasa forced herself not to stomp away to fetch the jeans, especially when it was followed with: "We're the same size anyway. And you owe me."


	3. Chapter 3

"Dearest passengers," The pilot's voice wafted from the speakers, lilted with peculiar cheer. "Due to this spectacularly crazy weather, we'll have to land in St. Maria before we resume our journey to Hong Kong. Fasten your seatbelts, my friends!"

Row 28, Seat C. Levi could have wept.

\----

Christa squealed. "I've always wanted to go to St. Maria!"

Annie's eyelids flickered lazily. "We'll probably be there for less than a day, stupid. Hey, Mikasa. Staying in the airport? Or a motel?"

Jean shot her a dirty look. "St. Maria motels are dangerous. Don't even suggest them. Not everyone's a Muay Thai boxer, Annie."

"You're right," Anne didn't even deign to open her eyes. "The rest of us can actually handle ourselves."

Mikasa pressed her forehead to the cold condensation of the window, the indignant squawks of Jean uninteresting background noise.

\---

"The airport lounge's full," yawned Annie, emerging from the classy curtains that separated them from a night of luxurious, or at least, decent comfort. "They're not even taking in Hanji and Nanaba, and they're the pilots. Don't the pilots get privileges?"

Hanji skipped ahead of the party, gaily tugging at her baggage. "I don't mind being with you guys; not at all," She made a face. "Even though Jean snores like a clogged pig."

"Like hell I do!" snarled Jean. Even then, he lacked significant intimidation.

"Cool it, Jean," drawled Annie boredly.

"So, what'll we do, then?" said Christa, miserably. She really had wanted to visit St. Maria's famed Love Walls, where lovers from every corner of the world came to paste saccharine notes of vows and promises. Reiner had even sent her his own sickly-sweet words through a text when she'd asked him for a preview of what he might have written for her. The gang had almost been dragged to a printing-shop for a laminated print of the text.

"Guess we'll just have to stay in the airport," said Annie, sensibly. "As long as we're with Hanji, we'll get the first notice of the new flight schedule for our plane. It's three a.m now, anyway. I don't plan on skipping around this kooky tropical island right now. Let's doze in the airport 'til we get some news."

"Fine by me," said Mikasa, already slumping into a row of seats, her sleep-heavy eyes sealed against the bitter light of the airport.

A pressure flung itself heavily into the seat beside her.

"Mikasa," began the nervous voice Jean only used with her. "You--excuse--"

Mikasa yawned, her eyelids glued together beyond her will to open them. "Sorry, Jean, but I agree with Annie. I know motels are dirty or plagued with whatever risky--"

"They aren't dirty. Motels are bloody filthy."

Mikasa's eyelids flew open and she almost snapped her neck in a shocked twist to the occupent of the seat beside her.

"Hello," said Napoleon, casually apathetic.

Mikasa made the conscious decision that he looked awful in her jeans.

\----

"Wire me money." 

"Levi," Erwin's infuriatingly condescending tone drifted over from Hong Kong. Even Erwin Smith, diabolical coaxer and suave charmer, was unconsciously slipping into a miffed tone. "Levi, I can't wire any money over."

Levi's fingers clenched the mobile in a pale grip. "Why not? I'm not staying in one of those trash-dumps some call motels. You made me stay in one of them once, and as far as I can recall, the bed was worst than the barn-straw I used to sleep on before you came gallivanting through rural France to pick me up."

"You're still my favourite souvenir to date," said Erwin mildly.

"Shut the hell up and wire me the money, you cheap prick."

"I can't do that. St. Maria only has one bank, and that's its local bank. Check the ATMs for yourself. There's only one sort."

"So send money through that."

"Too many complications," Erwin dismissed the notion immediately. "And the St. Maria bank's horribly unreliable. You probably wouldn't get the money in time, and if so, we most likely wouldn't get it back at all."

"You're f*cking me."

"Wish I was, dearest," said Erwin wistfully, "but if you did a check-up on the island, you'd find that it's really remarkable how they don't trust in international relations. The only reason they have an airport's because of their booming tourism economy. They do have lovely beaches--"

"I don't want to hear about a damned postcard-perfect paradise. And this isn't a paradise, far from it -- even the airport doesn't have Wifi. This is the weirdest ass place I've ever been to."

"Well, you won't have to stay there long," Erwin sighed. "You'll only be set back for a few hours, won't you? Or else we've got to cancel your first meeting with Mr Siew. This unfortunate little incident's screwed your schedule over quite badly."

"Who the hell is Mr Siew?"

"Our employer," reminded Erwin, with the patience of a saint, "Luckyfoot's owner. That guy you saw through a video conference and called a 'stifled moose'."

"Well, he never hired me for my wit."

"And nobody ever would if it weren't for me," said Erwin, quite honestly. "It's going to be fine, Levi. I'll buy you new jodhspurs when you get here. You'll like them--they'll be better." Levi heard the pondering frown in his voice. "Or, I suppose you could get the culprit to recompensate you. Tailored jodhspurs are never cheap, of course. What did you say you're wearing again?"

"I'm wearing jeans right now. I hate jeans."

"I know you do," soothed Erwin, "but think about Hong Kong. You'll be there soon. Think of the dimsum. The vibrant culture. *The racehorses*."

"I hate you," said Levi, with dignity.

"I love you too, dearest."

\-----------------

Flinty grey touched her bewildered gaze. Her eyes involuntarily flicked down over his lower half. Her skinny jeans did suit him nicely, she noted, rather detachedly. It was a simple fact that those sleek lengths of denim's appeal was suddenly amplified fantastically, wrapped as they were round Napoleon's -- er, the man's lean legs, coolly crossed.

She almost flinched at the easy thought. *What the hell am I thinking about?*

"Hi," she said, instead.

The man raised a brow. "Warm reception. Look, I highly doubt our chances of ever getting together for a nice *tête-à-tête* when we get to Hong Kong. And since you're a stewardess, I assume you don't get to stick in one place for too long. So. Mind recompensing me now?" He frowned. It almost looked comical. "I'm not really asking. I'd like recompensation now."

Mikasa opened her mouth, but Jean took the chance to loom over the man assertively. A terrible decision, Mikasa recognized at once. "Wait, what are you saying? Mikasa owes you something?"

Even placed in a distinctively lower position as he was seated and Jean erect, Napoleon's grey gaze, full of dark contempt, seemed to engulf the taller form of Jean as a whole. Mikasa watched Jean swallow in apprehension. 

"I'll repay you for her," said Jean, with admirable bravery.

Mikasa sighed. "Jean, no--"

Napoleon snorted. "I don't think so, *Jean*. Only your dear Mikasa can give me what I want."

Jean's eyes bulged. "W-what? What do you mean by that?"

Napoleon let out a dismal groan. "Will you f*ck off, Jean? The sooner I can get this business between your girlfriend and I done, the quicker I can get into a fresh pair of pants."

"Oh my God," said Annie, reveling in Jean's dazedly appalled face.

Mikasa sprang from her seat, grabbing Jean's taut arm. "Jean, get out of here. I'll kill Napoleon for you, but let's get you in a tactical retreat for now."

Maw still gaping helplessly, Jean was tugged far away by Christa. Mikasa swept back to Napoleon, glaring murderously. "You didn't have to be so rude."

"You didn't have to dump coffee on me."

"I didn't have to lend you my jeans."

The man eyed her coolly, his hands slipping into the denim pockets. "Yes." he finally said. "Thank you." 

Mikasa thought she could prod at the nearly tangible tension stringing between their stares; both were so deceptively nonchalant, and yet so strained behind the calm regard. She wouldn't make it easy for him. Mikasa stayed silent, watching him warily.

\---

Levi had to clear his throat sometime--once he did, though, he realized that, according to the social norm, he was expected to renew the conversation. Whoever made that stupid rule must have had his head stuffed with cotton.

"Buy me another pair of pants," he offered, tentatively, "and I'll give you back your jeans and ignore the rest of the bill."

Later, Levi was prepared to expect, Erwin would groan and lament in dismay over the unreclaimed cost of his tailor-made, monstrously expensive jodhspurs. Levi would let him take the recompensation out of his personal allowance anyway, so Erwin's woes weren't then the first of his priorities. The hugely disconcerting tightening around his crotch was. He studied Mikasa's bland, unmoved facade, and wondered if there was compassion within to be provoked. Probably, since she did respond to his entreating to borrow her jeans.

Still. It shocked him to hear her reply now.

"I'll pay the full sum," she said steadily, with grim staunchness. She was perfectly serious, Levi realized.

"I still want new pants, though."

"Okay," she said with her normal eloquence, and started off towards a row of airport shops, her suitcase rattling listlessly behind her.

He really didn't have a choice but to arise from his seat and tread after her, leaving her friends behind them agape and nonplussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review, review~
> 
> Already working on the next two chapters that'll come in succession!


End file.
